by Laney Monday
“Hi. I saw you guys. The kids were great. A real crowd-pleaser.”
“Thanks.” I looked around at the stilt-walkers disembarking from their high perches, leaving their parade roles. None of their costumes looked like the one the guy who’d threatened me wore. “Are these all your stilt-walkers?”
“Yeah, I think they’re all here. Why? Are you looking for someone in particular?”
“The guy who was wearing a tuxedo. I mean, not literally a tuxedo, but the puppet was painted like it was wearing a tuxedo, and a top hat and a beard…Abraham Lincoln! I think it was supposed to be an Abraham Lincoln puppet.”
George frowned. “We don’t have an Abraham Lincoln puppet.”
“Nothing that might look like Abraham Lincoln?”
“No, the closest we have is Uncle Sam, over there.” He pointed to an empty puppet, carefully laid out on the ground. It sported a tall hat, but it was blue with white stars, not black. Typical of Uncle Sam, the papier-mâché head’s beard was gray-white.
“No, that’s not it. Were there any other puppets in the parade? From some other organization?”
“Not that I saw. And there never have been before. I don’t know of another organization that does stilt puppets. They’re kind of our thing, you know? But individuals can enter the parade if the committee approves them. Maybe there was someone new this year who’s into stilt-walking.”
“Maybe.”
“Let me know if you find out who it was. Maybe he’ll be interested in joining the Artists’ Association.”
I tried not to let my disappointment show. “Okay, thanks for your help!” Now I had to find Will and share my completely implausible story. But what could I say? What could I say that wouldn’t make me sound nuttier than Chief Sanders already thought I was? Somehow, my being right—in the end, at least—about the last murder in Bonney Bay, hadn’t done much to improve the Chief’s impression of me. A nosy fruit loop, that’s how he treated me. Someone to be tolerated, probably in part because he was basically a polite person, and in part because I was going out with his best officer.
It doesn’t matter what he thinks, I told myself. Except that it could ultimately impact what he thought of Will, and therefore affect Will’s career. Yeah, there’s that. But there are little kids here, happy families, who have no idea there’s a dangerous killer among them.
I found Will in his cruiser and he stepped out to talk to me. Quietly, I told him about what I’d seen and how I’d already found George and the other stilt-walkers and confirmed that the man I’d had the unpleasant encounter with was not affiliated with the Artists’ Association.
Will rubbed his chin. It was getting stubbly, as it always did late in the day. “I believe you, Brenna. And not just because I saw the same guy.”
My hopes lifted. “You saw him, too?”
“Yes, he came toward the front of the parade a while after the rest of the stilt-walkers. But…you’re not sure it was a gun?”
“No. But I am sure about what he said to me. I’m just not certain exactly what he meant by it.”
“Brenna, the thing is, why would he show you his weapon right there in front of the crowd and risk someone seeing it, or you calling him out? It would be pretty stupid.” He shrugged. “But criminals do stupid things.”
“I don’t think he meant to brandish his weapon, if that’s what it was. I tried to grab him, and I pulled up part of the cloth of the puppet costume, and that’s how I saw it.”
“I’ll radio it in. We’ll be on it, Brenna.”
“Okay. Thanks.” I knew I sounded disappointed. Like a little kid who thought she was getting a hot fudge sundae with the works and got a vanilla cone instead. I summoned the grown-up within. The part of me that understood that there wasn’t anything else I could do now. Or Will, either. Someone might be sent to actively search for that guy, but not Will. He was already on crowd-control duty.
And I had nothing the police could really act on, other than trying to find the costume, or anyone who might’ve seen the guy get dressed in it. If they couldn’t find that, how would they ever figure out who it was? They only had the vaguest description to go on. Either there was just some jerk trying to scare me running around town, or a killer. A killer who I couldn’t identify any more specifically than a light-skinned man. I closed my eyes and tried to picture the hand I’d seen. Just a glimpse. Just for an instant. I just didn’t have enough to go on. Maybe if I saw it again…
I was just going to have to keep my eyes open and catch this killer myself. He or she knew I was looking for them. Why else would they seek me out, try to attack me or intimidate me?
I made my way back to Blythe and told her the news.
“What should we do, Bly? All our Battlers are counting on us to watch the fireworks with them. Carlos is counting on me to figure out who did this.”
“Not to mention, your own life could be at risk.”
I couldn’t miss the fear and love in Blythe’s eyes when she said that.
“Will’s on it. The police, they’re on it. They’re investigating. They’ll find someone who saw that stilt-walker get ready in staging. They’ll figure it out. They’re professionals.”
“So, you think I should let it go.”
“Yes, Brenna. Let it go for now.”
“What should we do, then, go home?”
“And hang out there like sitting ducks for whoever might want to hurt you? No, let’s stay here. Stay in the crowd.”
“Safety in numbers?”
“Something like that.”
30
In the corner of Pioneer Park, overlooking the water, was an octagonal deck about thirty feet in diameter. It was painted pristine white, and secure sides and railings all around the cliff sides were fitted with two telescopes, aimed at the bay beyond. Jill had been saving space on the lawn right by its open side, a few yards from the wide steps leading up to it. The judo kids and their families had found her and laid out blankets and sleeping bags alongside hers. There was quite a patchwork of my Battlers and their families.
And the Pakowskis. Jessie and the boys had laid out a blanket not far from the Battlers. Allen chased Holden up the steps and onto the deck. Both of them waved glow-in-the-dark swords. Great. Hopefully they stayed up there and left the rest of us alone. I noticed a bearded, youngish man with Jessie. Was he their father? Did he have the same parenting philosophy as she did?
“This is the best spot,” Sammi said. “Trust me.”
I nodded, but I couldn’t help looking at the cliffs that dropped thirty feet to the rocky beach below. Thankfully, they were bordered by a split rail fence, and near the deck, blackberry brambles and wild roses grew right up to the fence. In some spots, even over it. I was grateful for the extra thorny barrier. I had first hand experience with what it felt like to fall down the cliffs above the bay—and with how cold and treacherous its seemingly calm waters could be.
Annalisa climbed on top of the fence and straddled it. So did Sofie, and the two of them started playing a hand-clapping game.
“Glow necklace?” Jill held out a long, plastic tube. “I got them for the kids. They like to play with them and it also helps us keep an eye on them. I have lots of extra.”
“Sure.” I took it, cracked the tube so it would glow, and Jill showed me how to connect the ends to make a necklace. Now I had a ring of red, white, and blue glowing around my neck like all the kids.
“Ooh, do you have one for me?” Blythe asked.
“I sure do.”
Jill really had this mom thing down. I hoped her boys stayed in judo in the fall. She’d make a great team mom, if I ever developed enough kids who wanted to compete and were ready for the challenge. That was my new dream, I guess. Well, one of several simple dreams—simple compared to Olympic gold, anyway. There were a few strong judo teams within a couple hours of Bonney Bay, who hosted annual tournaments. Local-level events for kids through adults. It wouldn’t be fair for me to compete in a local event, but I lo
ved the idea of bringing a bunch of young competitors to one.
I lounged on the blankets with my team, watching the kids play, passing a bag of chips around, and trying not to think about Carlos, and Lourdes, who’d turned down my offer to come out and spend the day with us. I’d called her and told her about the guy on the stilts. She’d seemed a bit encouraged by the new lead even though it conflicted with the trail we’d been on. She said she felt safer staying home and that she had a good view of the fireworks through the window, but I knew that wouldn’t be the same. As we waited for the sky to darken, I texted, “Want me to come watch with you?”
“No. Stay there. Stay on it, Brenna.”
“Right. I’m on it.”
I sighed and lay back, wishing I knew what to do next. Wishing Will was right next to me.
As full darkness fell, a high whistle, followed by a crack, stirred the sleepy crowd. A shower of yellow fire marked the beginning of the show. I cheered and clapped with my Battlers. Several little ones in front of me lay back on the blankets, snuggled up against each other.
A woman with a group near ours leaped to her feet, raised her open hands to the sky, then brought them together in applause. “Oh! It’s so beautiful!” she cried in a thick accent. Her face was lit up almost as much as the sky. She ran up the steps, onto the big deck. Her family called her back, but she didn’t pay them any attention.
“It’s a tree! It’s a dragon! It’s a turtle!” she cried with each new explosion.
I couldn’t help it; I was watching her face almost as much as the fireworks.
The little kids joined her. “It’s a rainbow! It’s a lion with a big mane!”
The people she was with—extended family, it looked like—whispered, “Shh!” and, “People are trying to watch!”
She turned to our group sheepishly. She looked about fifty years old. “I’m sorry. I never see this before. Fireworks. I never see fireworks before. I’m sorry. It’s so beautiful.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Blythe said. “It is beautiful.”
The woman walked over to the edge of the deck rail, where she wouldn’t block anyone’s view. She tried to hold it in, but she kept crying out with childlike abandon, laughing in amusement and gasping in awe.
“I think it’s her first Fourth of July,” I whispered to Blythe.
“I think so, too. Imagine that.”
There was another pop-boom, but no new burst of light to correspond with it. I jumped. That was no firework. The sound seemed to come from the wrong direction. I spun around.
“Where is it? I don’t see it,” the kids were saying.
“Oh, it must’ve been a dud,” Gary Rowe answered.
Another firework shot into the sky and burst into a rain of color, and the crowd applauded. All around me was a chorus of oohs and aahs. That last one must’ve been a good one. But I was still trying to figure out where that other sound came from. That pop—that unexplained burst of sound…it could’ve been just a dud, but suddenly there was a chill creeping up my neck.
I knew it was sometimes hard to tell which direction a sound was coming from. I could just be confused. But why had my initial thought been, That’s not fireworks, when we were right in the middle of a fireworks show?
I stood and moved closer to the fence so I wouldn’t block the view, so I wouldn’t be noticed. Farther away, along the fence line, I saw a shadowy figure, running like the wind rushing up from the water below. Who would be running away from the fireworks show? Apparently dressed from head-to-toe in black, too?
31
“Blythe!” I called.
But she didn’t hear me. The kids were piled all over her, smiling and pointing at the rings of color in the sky. I spun back around. Where I’d last seen the figure, I made out the bushes parting and rustling. I couldn’t wait, even though I didn’t want to go anywhere near that cliff again. I ripped the glow necklace off and stuffed it in my pocket. Then I maneuvered along the fence, staying on the safe side, leaping over a sleeping baby, knocked out like only a baby could be with all that noise going on around him. I tripped over a wagon handle lying across my path and slid along the grass on my belly.
I picked myself up and ignored the lady who told me, “Hey, watch out!”
All was clear for a while, and then I almost tripped again, over a grown man asleep in a camping chair at the very back of the crowd, at the edge of the sea of people. Now there was nice, clear open grass, except for the giant wooden swing in the middle of the park. A couple of teenagers sat on it, all cuddled up, probably making out.
Now wasn’t the time to be shy. “Hey, did you two see someone run through here?”
The boy said, “No,” in a surly tone, but the girl said, “Yeah, I saw someone. They ran right behind that bush.”
“Thanks!” I took off, then cautiously looked around the bush. In the distance, a dark figure appeared to be sitting against an ancient crabapple tree. I could see the bent legs and the feet sticking out. Unless…what if that wasn’t someone crouching on the other side of the tree? What if it was a dead body?
I crept over to the tree, then flattened myself against the knotty trunk and held my breath. I could hear whoever it was breathing, right on the other side of the tree. A thin curl of smoke swirled up. It smelled a little bit like fireworks. Or was I just smelling the fireworks? The figure moved just a little to my right, and something metallic glinted in the light of the latest addition to the fireworks display. The air around it looked a little cloudy. Not cloudy, smoky! A gun! Literally, the smoking gun!
And then it hit me. Someone’s been shot! I was chasing a criminal, one capable of killing, but what if the victim was still alive? I had to find them and get help for them. Okay, Brenna. You’re here. Right next to the shooter. You have no idea where the victim is. Catch the shooter and make him tell you.
Okay, it was a plan. Just grab this person, without getting shot…
I breathed, nice and slow—hopefully quietly. I inched around the tree, toward the side where the gun wasn’t. The shooter started to get up. I froze. Should I grab them now, before they turned on me and shot me? But he jogged toward the cliffs, smoking gun still in his hand. Yes, it was a he. I could see that now. I stayed put and watched. He hurled the gun over the bushes, toward the cliff.
This was it. My chance. He wasn’t armed anymore. But he was really, really close to the cliffs. The fact that there was a fence and a few bushes between him and the rocks wasn’t reassurance enough. I never wanted to feel those rocks scraping and bruising me again. And I never wanted to feel that frigid water swallowing me up again.
But he turned away from the cliffs after he got rid of the gun, and started to run toward the street side of the park. I burst into action. I wanted to take him from behind, but just before I reached him, he spun around, wild-eyed. He was wearing a dark ski mask, but I could see his frenzied state just fine. I didn’t wait. I didn’t let myself worry about whether he had another weapon. My only thought was, Get him. Get this guy who killed Millie.
I grabbed his arm and swung him over my hip, to the ground. He landed hard and cried out. But he was a heavy guy, and as he flailed in the air on the way down, he turned and landed on his side instead of flat on his back where I wanted him. I gave up control of his arm and went straight for his neck with both hands. I controlled his body with my legs and slipped my hand under his chin and around, then clasped my other arm to secure the choke. I shoved all my weight, all my strength into it.
Within a few seconds, I felt his body go limp. Should I release the pressure? What if he was faking it? The average person wouldn’t have the wherewithal to do that. Especially someone who’d never been choked before. He’d be in a panic, fighting for his life. But I didn’t know who I was dealing with, how savvy he was. The flailing, and now this stillness, could all be an act. But I had to let go. I had to risk it. I needed to call for help, I needed to know where the victim was—and I really didn’t want to kill this guy.
Oh
. My. Word. This guy was going to die. I was going to kill him if I didn’t let go. I dropped him like a hot potato. Then I fell to my knees beside him. Carefully, slowly, I turned him over. I pulled the ski mask up. I had to know.
It was Marvin Brown, Millie’s husband. For a second, I couldn’t breathe. I realized then that I’d been hoping for a stranger’s face. I guess I should’ve felt relieved that I wasn’t dealing with some young guy with combat training. Instead, I felt disgusted, betrayed on Millie’s behalf. I got out my phone. My hand was shaking so hard, I could hardly hit Will’s name and dial. I should’ve just gone with 9-1-1.
He was on duty, but Will would answer after what I’d told him earlier, wouldn’t he? I watched Marvin’s chest rise and fall as I listened to the phone dial. I set it on the ground, on speaker, secured Marvin in a pin, then shook him sharply. He twitched violently, then opened his eyes.
“Hello?” Will said.
“Will! I need help!”
“Brenna? Where are you?”
“I’m at the back of the park. Someone’s been shot. Marvin did it. I think he killed Millie too. You have to find whoever he shot.”
“Where? Where at the back of the park?”
“Listen, I caught Marvin Brown. He had a gun. He just shot someone!”
“Are you with him?”
“Yes, but I don’t know where the victim is. I don’t know who he shot.”
“You’re with Marvin, and he has a gun?”
“No, he threw it away and I have him subdued.”
“Just stay there. I’m coming.”
“No! You have to find whoever he shot. What if they’re bleeding to death?”
With a jolt, Marvin tried to sit up. But I pulled him back down. I had one arm under his neck, holding a fistful of his shirt.
“Stay on the ground! Who did you shoot?”
“I didn’t shoot anybody.” Marvin’s face hardened, and for the first time, I could really see it—Marvin as a murderer.
I grabbed Marvin’s wrist and grappled with him on the ground until I had his arm locked up. “You want me to break your arm, Marvin?”
